


Totally Broke

by ohnovinsim



Category: The Sims (Video Games)
Genre: Bad Parenting, Cheating, Class Issues, Coming Out, Coming of Age, Depression, F/M, Falling In Love, Gay Character, High School, Infidelity, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Multi, Murder Mystery, Obsession, Parent Death, Poverty, Sexual Identity, Sibling Rivalry, Single Parents, Teenage Drama, Twins, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:28:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 3,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24990829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohnovinsim/pseuds/ohnovinsim
Summary: Dustin Broke and Dirk Dreamer. Just two teenagers from different sides of the tracks. They both have dead parents and date twin sisters. But that's where the similarities end — or do they? When a murder shakes the sleepy hamlet of Pleasantview to its core, Dustin and Dirk must confront uncomfortable truths about their community, their relationships and themselves.
Relationships: Dirk Dreamer/Lilith Pleasant, Dustin Broke/Angela Pleasant, Dustin Broke/Dirk Dreamer
Kudos: 9





	1. The Flamingo

It’s not clear how the lawn flamingo entered him, whether it was beak- or feet-first. But there was no denying Michael Bachelor was dead.  
Media reports covered it up, claiming he died of “natural causes.” That’s what not happened, though — not by a long shot.  
My name is Dustin Broke. My Dad’s dead, my Mom’s always knocked up, and I witnessed a murder.  
Gordon had me out that night prowling the neighborhood. He’d be a better criminal if he told me what he’s after. My report card says I’m dumb. But I’m smart enough to not mouth off. He clocked me the last time I returned empty-handed.  
Most nights I’m picking up what isn’t nailed down, stereos and tools if I’m lucky, leftover food if I’m not. Gordon can’t resell it of course. If I learned anything from my mother Brandi though, “free” is everybody’s favorite price.  
My girlfriend understands. I act tough to hide how anxious I am. We were barely making ends meet before Dad kicked the bucket. His death drained what little savings we had left. But in my darkest moment, Angela Pleasant shined her light on me, pushing me to open up.  
I’m her boyfriend. But I’ve never felt I’m her charity case. She doesn’t judge my crap grades, my pinball obsession or my family’s dysfunction. Brandi practically begs her to babysit my little brother, Beau. I’m not complaining, though, and as far as Angie’s concerned I’m not a “thief” either. Some things are better left unsaid.  
There are do-gooders, and then there’s Angie. She’s every parent’s wet dream. Good looks, good grades and her family’s fortune have her destined for success. It’s not possible for her to fail. Not for a Pleasant, not for the namesake of our lame town. Even her psycho twin sister Lilith has a shot in Pleasantview.  
But I’m taking my time. Because us Brokes only get one — and I’m not about to waste mine for the Caliente sisters, not after what they did to Michael and likely my father too.


	2. The Funeral

Michael’s death hardly drew any suspicion. He largely kept to himself. His trophy wife remained a mystery. Most neighbors didn’t meet Dina until the funeral, a lavish affair underwritten by the Goth family’s old money and connections.  
I didn’t anticipate going, afraid she’d recognize me. But Brandi had already aired my suit out. I wasn’t expecting to see it again after Dad’s service. It was a last-minute thrift store find soaked in cheap cologne and mothballs.  
We arrived at Goth Manor that afternoon under a molten sun. My wool suit had become a torture chamber. Dina anchored herself amid the folding chairs. I hardly recognized her not covered in her husband’s blood. But there she sat, innocently, in a sleeveless dress Darren Dreamer could’ve easily painted on her. Even Sims not in attendance felt the slow burn of Cassandra Goth’s side eye.  
I forgot Michael was the sad girl’s uncle.  
Michael Bachelor was somewhat of a local legend, or so Brandi said. She didn’t meet him. But I imagine Brandi’s parents wished she had.  
Grandpa Bob remembered Michael cut the seasons and dreams of Riverview’s sports teams short. Sunset Valley High remained undefeated, year after year, with Michael as their ringer. Every college and university in the tri-state area was chomping at the bit to sign him. Even Academie Le Tour signaled interest — and those nerds don’t even have an athletics program.  
But Michael ultimately decided to stay put.  
Suddenly, a hush came over the courtyard as Bella Goth stood up from her seat, stepping into the center of it all.  
“Thank you, everybody, from the bottom of our broken hearts,” Bella said. “My big brother could always draw a crowd.”  
Bella smiled at the polite laughter from her one-liner.  
“But it bothered Michael how Sims valued athleticism over aptitude."  
I leaned in as Michael’s little sister filled in the blanks.


	3. The Toad

Bella Goth. Muse. Trendsetter. Icon. Living proof that you can have it all. Bella didn’t exhibit flaws, at least any visible ones. She squeezed and cinched them underneath a tight red bodice that made men hard and women insane.  
Even in a Tragic Clown suit Bella could turn heads. Today’s outfit didn’t disappoint, her olive skin peeking through velvet as black as midnight in Forgotten Hollow. It’s rumored Bella came from a long line of occultists, mystics and decadents. But that’s a load of bullshit. Everybody knows Angie’s Mom is an absolute witch, including her husband. Mary-Sue Pleasant would rather her darling daughter hump an encyclopedia than date a toad like me.  
Bella didn’t put on any airs, though. My heart nearly exploded at the soft touch of her hand in the receiving line. She gripped Brandi’s hands first, then mine. Beau takes after his old man. He nearly made off with her wedding band. The diamond alone could’ve bought ten trailers, double-wides, with their own Olympic-sized pools.  
Nobody here cried the day they dragged Dad’s sorry ass from ours. Construction had just begun. The cops blamed it on a faulty ladder. I could read between the lines, though. The toxicology reports came back negative. They couldn’t blame Dad for his slip. But they weren’t about to open a murder investigation either.  
Lost, swimming in my thoughts, I didn’t realize the service had ended. Dina hadn’t heard Bella’s final remarks either. She’d left the service early leaning on Dr. Lothario’s shoulder, his fiancée Cassandra not far behind.


	4. The Dead

There are times when the feeling is so strong and tangible that I can sense something is about to happen. Maybe it's wrong of me, but when it happens, I can't stop from following my instincts.  
I shrinked back as the funeral attendees filed out. My eyes scanned the perimeter, picking up little details about the Goth property. They'd be the building blocks of my mental blueprint. Gordon might have me out here again on assignment. He'd be disappointed if I wasn't actively taking notes.  
The Goths were one of Pleasantview's founding families. They have the dead to prove it, and they weren't shy about putting on a display. Tidy rows of tombstones stood sentinel, guarding the family's estate.  
That raised another flag around Michael's death. Cremation. Why? I figured open casket wasn't happening, not after the number the Calientes did on him. But the Goths weren't short on real estate. They could cram another corpse onto their lot. Some secrets don't stay buried, though. Perhaps the family realized that.  
Then the moaning began. I nearly jumped out of my skin. Luckily, I caught myself, but not before planting my right foot into a marble headstone the size of a small car.  
"OWwWWSHhSHITSHIT!! FUCK!! FUCK!! FUCK!!"  
I scuffed my best shoes. Probably shattered all my toes too. But that was nothing compared to the steel-toed boot Lilith Pleasant was about to drive up my ass.  
"What the FUCK, DUSTIN?! WHAT THE FUCK?!"


	5. The MILF

Death came for me in a lacy bra. It had milky white cleavage and a beet red face.  
"LEAVE, DUSTIN! JUST LEAVE!" Lilith screamed.  
Her chest heaved as she hurled her marching orders at me. I had no time to react. There I stood, a deer in the headlights, too afraid to meet her eyes and dumb enough to see the thin sheen of sweat glowing atop her breasts.  
Suddenly, a male voice chimed in, deliberate and firm.  
"Dude, step off. OK? Step off and let her be."  
Dirk Dreamer. Star athlete, honors student and Golden Boy caught with his pants down — and at a funeral service. Whatever feeling left in my right foot was stunned. He shot me a warning glare as he sheepishly tugged at his trousers.  
"Dustin, we're done here. We're done, alright?"  
Dirk's teammates are dickheads, the absolute scum of the earth. I decked Ricky Cormier after he called Brandi a MILF. She didn't agree with what I did. But after a week-long suspension, we'd saved enough on childcare to splurge Friday on pizza.  
School basically sucked balls after that. Now I had a target on me for the entire soccer team to score penalty kicks. They'd comment on Brandi's expanding belly in the locker room, trying to rile me up. But I tuned it out. I had to. Even their suggestions they could be my "new Daddy" couldn't trigger me. Principal Jennifer Burb made herself clear I had my one-way ticket to Fort Starch Military Academy punched if I so much as raised my voice again.  
Dirk didn't pile on me, though. He was mostly a bystander, which made him complicit. Ang taught me that word. She practically ate, slept and breathed the SATs these days. Her tutor was over that afternoon. I couldn't afford one, not that it mattered with my lousy grades.  
"DUDE! STOP BEING A FUCKING PERV!" Lilith barked.  
"Lilith, chill," Dirk started, "Let it go for..."  
"FOR WHAT?! FOR WHAT, DIRK?!" Lilith shrieked at him. "I'M IN MY FUCKING BRA! SO I'M NOT GOING TO 'CHILL!' MAN UP, DIRK! MAN UP AND KICK HIS FUCKING ASS!"  
Over my shoulder I heard a screen door slam. It had to be Old Man Goth.  
"What's going on out there?" he hollered.  
I didn't notice the blood pooling in my right shoe until it stopped pumping thorough my legs.


	6. The Machine

Good news. My foot's still attached. The bad news arrived two weeks later, first-class.  
Four-hundred fucking Simoleons.  
That's how much urgent care charged Brandi for the X-ray. I couldn't believe it. Not only had I lost my big toenail. My pinball machine was about to be ripped away too. Brandi told me to sell it on Gregslist.  
It's as my father used to say, "Us Brokes don't catch any breaks."  
Skip Broke bought me that machine — at least I believe he did. It was the dead of winter. But there were plenty of "construction jobs."  
Money was always tight in our household. But we'd scrape by at the eleventh hour. Bill collectors had Brandi in tears so much you'd thought her water broke. Skip could cheer her up, though. Bad puns and dirty jokes were his bread and butter. Brandi couldn't resist them. She'd cover my ears, of course. But I'd get the gist of it.  
Brandi said I was a hyperactive child. She called me her "Little Pinball." I didn't understand her though, not until that fateful Winterfest. There was a neon behemoth beside our tree. It had to be a dream.  
I hardly noticed there weren't any other presents. Father Winter could've brought me socks and underwear for all I cared. My Dad had Sweet Tooth Survivor Pinball!  
Brandi fretted openly about it. She hated violence, real or simulated. But I felt safe bathed in the soft glow of Sweetie the Shark's silhouette.  
That year the bullies nicknamed me "Hand-Me-Down Dustin." They'd laugh at Brandi's thrift store fashions always two sizes too big for me. Now I had the upper hand. Nobody in my grade could say they had a pinball machine at home.  
I felt special. It didn't last.  
I invited some kids from school over. Brandi hadn't met my friends yet (I didn't have any.) In her excitement she ordered a large pizza, extra cheese. We ate it cold the next day for breakfast.  
Sims left after seeing my shiny new toy wasn't a Maxis™ Game Simulator. Not everybody split, though. Angela Pleasant asked if she could have a turn.  
I'm unsure what to do about Sweetie. But Gregslist can shove it.


	7. The Disguise

Brandi might only have a GED. But you don't need a BA to sniff out BS. She's changed enough dirty diapers in her life to tell if something didn't smell right.  
I don't enjoy breaking her heart. My options weren't many, though, and my hopes were few. We'd be out on our asses if Brandi missed another month's rent.  
I got Angie's pool party invitation for tonight, a last hurrah before the dread around Finals set in. But Brandi had my invite hostage. I couldn't leave the house until posting my pinball machine, my single most-prized possession, for sale on Gregslist.  
So I made my post live — for 24 hours. Sweetie wouldn't leave my side. Not if I could help it.  
There were other ways of making easy money, mostly illegal. But necessity is the mother of invention.  
I slipped into my trunks and stood in front of the bathroom mirror, blinded by my own pale reflection. Most heists were made at night, under the cover of darkness. Bossman Gordon kept odd hours. I'd sleep through my remedial Simlish class anyways. Still I had bags under my eyes, hazy purple half moons that never waned.  
Brandi fattened me up as a little boy. We didn't have much, but I was always well-fed. Sometimes she'd share half her plate with me.  
I'd rather be called a fatty. Being poor reflected on your entire family. Being fat kept the attention on me. Plus, I had a size advantage on most other children my age.  
That all changed the summer before high school. My body's metabolism kicked into overdrive. The taller I became, the thinner I got. My body had betrayed me. I no longer had the baby fat I needed to disguise me.  
Gordon said muscle weighs more than fat. He's not technically wrong, according to Angie. Muscle is denser than fat. No wonder there were so many jocks with me in remedial Simlish.  
Not Dreamer, though. Dirk and Angie had honors-level classes together. He'd probably be at the party tonight, not that I cared. I'd basically put "the incident" out of my mind.  
Then again, I needed a favor — and every scandal has its price.  
I slung my Captain Hero towel over my shoulder and headed for the door.


	8. The Mission

Mary-Sue Pleasant didn't need coffee. She ran on the blood of her enemies. I've seen her bite enough heads off, then chase the innards with a swig from her Green Smoothie.  
I could be on the menu too if I'm not careful. She's done her opposition research on me. Mary-Sue had a file on every Sim in Pleasantview. It was a mental checklist, sorted by perceived slights and insults.  
One time she had a barista fired for breathing too loudly. Other interns with the mayor's re-election campaign cowered at her name. But she didn't scare me.  
I was absolutely petrified. One wrong move and she'd turn me into stone.  
My hand trembled as it hovered above the front doorknob to Angie's house. Either there were one of two things behind it — my girlfriend or certain death.  
That's how come Angie and I were sneaking out. I hadn't so much as breathed inside their house before.  
Mary-Sue may've only involved herself recently in politics. But Angie was her biggest campaign to date. It kicked off right after exiting Mary-Sue's womb. Her twin sister, Lilith, was the afterbirth.  
According to Angie, Mary-Sue never counted on twins. I'm half-surprised Lilith didn't devour her in utero. None of the sonograms detected her. She lived and breathed in the darkness of her sister's shadow.  
I twisted the doorknob as if it were a ticking time bomb. Mary-Sue could spell trouble. But I didn't need to set Lilith off either.  
I had a simple mission, corner Dirk and blackmail him. He'd pay if word spread he banged Lilith at the funeral for a member of Pleasantview's high-society.  
Cornering Dirk in the Pleasant's home, at a party, suddenly became more challenging that I imagined. My head spun as my thoughts raced round and round. Sweat pooling under my armpits began soaking through my T-shirt.  
I needed some air. Now.  
So I lunged at the nearest door and discovered Angie's dad, face down in their maid's carpet.


	9. The Receipts

I'm still a virgin. Not that Angie's Dad had a clue. He also had my back against the wall, his forearm flush to my windpipe.  
Daniel Pleasant and I were hardly bosom buddies. But he hadn't laid a hand on me before. He usually kept his roughhousing to the locker room. I heard rumors he might be juicing. Based on Daniel's grip, I'd say there's a kernel of truth in them. My right arm felt caught in a vice. Green eyes leered at me through a moist strand of red hair matted to his forehead.  
"What did you see?" Daniel snarled.  
I didn't have an answer. The French maid had fled.  
I've caught more ass than a toilet seat lately. But this was a brand-new level of intimacy for me. Daniel's muscular chest heaved underneath his unbuttoned shirt. It was coated in a fine sheen of lighter hairs flattened by the heat. Sweat ran in tiny rivulets down his chiseled torso, disappearing into the elastic band of his low-cut blue briefs.  
"What did you see?" he repeated sternly.  
I shut my eyes, patiently waiting for the Grim Reaper to appear. So Daniel pressed up against me, harder, forcing my eyes open as I gasped for air.  
I tried looking away, my left hand frantically searching for anything within reach. If I couldn't hit him with it, I could smash it.  
Suddenly, he let up. My body collapsed to the floor. I clutched my throat to confirm my head and my body were still attached.  
"Does Angela know you're a faggot?" Daniel muttered.  
I didn't understand. Then I felt it, a raging hard-on between my legs peeling away my swim trunks. Whatever color left my face came flooding back in embarrassment. But that's not the worst of it.  
Lilith has the receipts. Her reflection hung in the mirror above me, the same one that barely contained Daniel's surprise.  
"Smile for the camera, Dad."


	10. The Beast

Sunsets are beautiful. But they're still illuminated pollution. They take your breath away, literally. Daniel Pleasant almost did mine.  
Once he let go, I split, pushing past Lilith and sprinting out the front door. In my flight home, I crashed into Dirk on the sidewalk. I would've apologized if I wasn't busy running for my life.  
Hopefully he didn't notice the epic tent I'd pitched.  
How could my body betray me again? Normally, I'd pop my boner under my waistband or tie a shirt around it. But Daniel had unleashed the beast.  
I slammed the door to my room shut and flopped into bed. Pressed against the mattress, I felt my erection tense — insistent, pleading to be touched. We both were angry at each other. I shifted my weight as I stripped off my swim trunks.  
It was the heat of the moment. It had to be. No way was Angie's Dad right.  
I opened my nightstand and reached into the drawer for the bottle of baby oil Brandi had "misplaced." Thank God for pregnancy brain.  
My whole body throbbed as my greasy fingertips grazed my shaft. I practically leapt out of my skin, convinced I creamed myself. But it was a false start.  
So I slackened my grip and shut my eyes, picturing Angie while slickly stroking away. My left thumb and pointer finger traced the fine, downy hairs around my nipples. They labored intently, working my tiny, peach mounds into mountain peaks. But try as I might, my imagination drifted.  
I haven't been kissed. Nobody ever gets up in my face. But Daniel came the closest though, his hot breath a heady mixture of rum and spearmint and — "AWwWwwfFFfUCCCKKKK!!"  
Creamy ropes of splooge splashed across my stomach, twisting and bending mid-air. Muscles contracted and released as my eyes flashed open. My body spasmed, suspended in ecstasy as my endorphins crested and crashed, before laying perfectly still.  
Out of the darkness, my phone pinged. I rolled out of bed and scanned the floor for dirty laundry. Anything absorbent would do. My hand brushed my backpack and I remembered. Coach Komei told me to do something about my "fragrant" gym shorts, in front of the entire P.E. class of course.  
I mopped up and reached for my phone. Angie had texted.  
"Meet me under the swings. I'll let you have anything you want."  
I'd had enough of the Pleasant family for one night.  
But I really needed a hug right now.


	11. The Tutor

Memories hold onto what we love, who we are, the things we never want to lose — if you can also remember to forget.  
Despite my better judgement, I left the trailer again that night. My head felt heavy as I tried to rehash the latest version of events.  
Hidden in the soft folds of my hoodie were the raised bruises Daniel had inflicted. They hugged tightly around me throat. Even in the pale moonlight, the purpling stood out in the bathroom mirror plain as day — tiny vessels exploding into an ugly geometry.  
Bossman Gordon had roughed me up a couple times. But a slap upside the head was nothing compared to the hot hatred seared in the whites of Daniel's eyes.  
What had I done? Clearly not his daughter, since he thinks I'm a "faggot." I thought I'd rounded the corner. But there was puberty again with its foot sticking out.  
Having sticky fingers meant keeping the Sims you cared about at arm's length. With all the dirt Gordon has on me, I'm uncertain I'll ever climb out of the hole I'm in. But then there's Angie, giving me reasons to remain looking up.  
She and I couldn't be any more different. We didn't have the same choices. However, I let her struggles be mine, no matter how trivial. My family could be a collection notice away from the skids. But I couldn't ask for a better Simlish tutor.  
She balanced her knowledge of irregular verbs with Prom-ready runway looks. With Angie I could be a regular teen rather than man of the house.  
She asked me out, unbelievably. Wasn't it illegal for a tutor to do that? If not illegal, then it was surely social suicide to been seen outside study hall with "Hand-Me-Down Dustin."  
Most Sims our age didn't bat an eyelash, though. They accepted her choice of me. For the first time, in a long time, I felt safe behind a suit of armor. Now Daniel had stripped me of it.  
I cautiously approached the playground at Woodland Park, expecting another dust up. Angie sat facing away from me beneath the swings. Bright halos from the nearby streetlamps bounced off her metallic hair clip. I could see she draped her shoulders in the Captain Hero towel I'd left behind. Slowly, she stood and turned to face me.  
How could I be so dumb?  
"Good evening, loverboy," Lilith cooed. "I believe I have something of yours."


End file.
